Thought this was better posted hear.

Dearest Mercedes,

Our beginning together was almost as scandalous as the many women who share your (stage) name. There I was- a twenty year old in the Shenandoah Valley, getting over the violent breakup between me and my Bronco. It's 12 inches of lift and 35 inch tires were nothing but trouble. I wanted tried and true. Nothing to knock my socks off, but a face I could wake up to every morning. And then there you were. The Ebay listing with poor grammar stood out among the rest. But you were so far. Charlotte, North Carolina. It had to be done, I said. So I jumped on the Amtrak train, which left three hours behind schedule. I sat next to a slightly odd young man carrying a framed 8x10 framed picture of a train. He knew every Amtrak schedule by heart. We cruised the pitch black night, stopping at every dink town along the way. I would wake up occasionally, contacts glued to my eye balls and hear, 'Then the Cardinal connects with the Union West in Cleveland and then at 7 o' clock...' and drift off back to sleep. Six hours later we were there.

At 3 A.M. 'You can't stay here,' the station clerk said to me in broken English. I stepped out into the night. Why is every train station stop in Berlin post World War I? Dogs ran across piles of rubble. A man with a limp dragged a sled full of scrap metal through the street. No way. I waited until the clerk went back in his glass booth. I crouched down, slid up onto the wooden bench facing the window, and slept fitfully in my fox hole as I avoided the soldier at his post.

9 A.M. The seller is supposed to pick me up.
7 hours at station- Seller not replying to messages.
8 hours at station- kicking rocks in the plant bed
9 hours at station-have decided Charlotte is too far away to walk.
10 hours at station- I now know there are 1,452 tiles in the left section of wall on the building.

I get a call. The seller is gone, but his friends will pick me up. They do. Two 250 pound black men in a 250 pound truck. I squeeze in. They are nice. We have some errands to run first they say. First, breakfast. Then stop number one. Another guy selling a car. Apparently these two buy cars to sell for a little profit. The man is Korean who doesn't speak English. They get out. I stay in the truck. The korean man is doing all the typical hand motions of selling a car. My new friends are plotting. The Korean man opens the hood. He starts the car.

It starts on fire.

White smoke first, then black. A lot of it. It's filling the yard. My new friends are laughing and running towards the truck as quickly as their pudgy legs can. The Korean man is hand gesturing again, yelling a number $200 less then previously. We all laugh and speed away. To the next car, which goes more smoothly.

We get to their store. A junky car stereo joint. The stereos look like they have been removed very quickly from vehicles. We wait for their friend who has the title. For an hour and half. He comes, introduces himself as Jamal, signs 'Jose Rodriguez' on the title, and it is done.

And there you are. Sitting alongside all the other potentially stolen vehicles. I get inside. Everything is new and perfect to me, and 35 years old to everyone else. What an experience. Glow plugs? Owner's manual in German? Perfect.

And no stereo.

I start it up and weasel through Charlotte beginning the six hour trip through the valley. I need to sleep. I stop at gas station in Virginia, and ask the lady if I can sleep under the tree outside, which she is suspiciously excited that I do.

You and me traveled everywhere, DC, Hampton Roads, the Blue Ridge Parkway. Roanoke every other Sunday for church. We bailed hay together on farm plowed my mules in Motley, Virginia. Then we had to leave. Any possession I could not fit in you went to Goodwill. When we left Virginia we blazed through the mountains and arrived in the mountain town of Thomas, WV. Our friends The Steel Wheels were playing that night. We got there late. They were playing already when I walked in. Trent told everyone I made it, and was on my way to Chicago. They played Townes Van Zandt's 'Where I Lead Me' to commemorate our travel. I slept in the hostel with them and the band Boca Chica and their husbands. All in two small rooms. We woke up, had breakfast. Smelled what air should smell like in the morning, and off we went into the next four years of our life together.

Though you were heat-less, you never failed me. Except that once when the air conditioner unit went out and locked up the engine. And even then it was just as soon as I got into the garage. You ran on frier oil. We took countless trips to Michigan to see family, and to Wisconsin. We impressed many people in the above 50 crowd. Some would scoff at us, others would comment on how beautiful you were. To some people's disbelief we courted a few beautiful women together. You were known as The Freedom Train. The Twinkie. A $60,000 vehicle adjusted for inflation, $2,000 from car thieves, priceless to me.

Good bye dear, Mercedes. I will suggest cautiously, one day, to my wife that 'maybe we she name her 'Mercedes' hoping that she did not read this. And when she hits me, and makes me sleep on the couch, I will dream fondly of only you.

__________________
1981 300D 205,000 mi.

He comes, introduces himself as Jamal, signs 'Jose Rodriguez' on the title, and it is done.

__________________
I'm sick of .sig files

Good read! Did you sell the benz or did it break down on you?

__________________

1979 240D with a 617 turbo diesel.

205k? Way too young.

Good read, though.

__________________

1980 300TD-China Blue/Blue MBTex-2nd Owner, 107K (Alt Blau) OBK #15
'06 Chevy Tahoe Z71 (for the wife & 4 kids, current mule) '03 Honda Odyssey (son #1's ride, reluctantly) '99 GMC Suburban (255K+ miles, semi-retired mule) 21' SeaRay Seville (summer escape pod)